


Avaritia

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Scorpius Malfoy Presents the Seven Deadly Sins [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albius - Freeform, Albus Severus/Scorpius - Freeform, Astral Projection, Avaritia, Death, M/M, Mental Illness, Seven Deadly Sins, The seven deadly sins, dying, greed - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night when he closes his eyes Scorpius is still there waiting for him with the same watery blue gaze and the same easy smile and every night he is reminded why he will never give this up and he will never stop hoping for just one more yesterday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avaritia

**Author's Note:**

> A tale of greed in many forms.
> 
> Endless thanks and adoration to my dear friend and muse in all things, Unkissed.
> 
> For Albus, our favorite boy in the band.

— _So the unwanting soul sees what’s hidden, and the ever-wanting soul sees only what it wants._

  

You could have never predicted that this is what your life would become. Even a few short years ago at seventeen you would never have guessed that it would all come down to this. You are eternally lost and only occasionally found and when the deafening solitude isn’t eating away at your sanity your broken heart fills in the gaps with a pain so mind bending that you can hardly stand to move at any given moment.

The air is thick with smoke that filters copiously from unknown sources. Sometimes you have the sensation of wanting to choke, although you rarely do. The dry itch at the back of your throat is like a sensory imprint that is fading with each passing minute, hour, and day. You find yourself wandering down a deserted street in the middle of a depressingly overcast afternoon—Or is it night? You often find that you cannot tell the difference.

Although you occasionally catch a glimpse of a shadow that is illusive in every possible way, you are otherwise alone. The panes of glass that line the streets are caked with grime and fog that you sometimes find yourself scratching at with your fingernails just because. The storefronts are much like the rest of this city that you are perpetually lost in; empty and terribly void.

You cannot say how long you’ve been walking, although it seems like a lifetime when you actually stop in the middle of the street to think about it. Your mind is unable to remain focused for very long and your gaze wanders along a deep crack in the pavement beneath your feet because you are already losing that train of thought. You know that if you can just find him everything will be okay, but with each passing moment you grow numb to the possibility of hope and your eagerness is slowly turning into dread which is the perpetual gateway to fear and finally, indifference.

You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to remember. Your jaw clenches tightly as you push your memory banks to the limits of sanity in a desperate attempt to locate something useful within your own mind.  It was three days ago that you woke up in this place all alone, although to you it feels much longer. The details are fuzzy and still you press on because you know that you  _have_  to remember if you expect to have any chance at all.

A fleeting glimpse of a muggle automobile flashes behind your eyelids and you gasp as a previously untapped memory comes flooding back to you so forcefully that it causes you to sway where you stand.

It was raining down pretty decently the night that you drug Albus out of that tiny hotel room and demanded his undivided attention. You wanted him all to yourself and you had been prepared to get exactly what you wanted, at any cost. You’d been sharing him with the world for years and now it was your turn. The vision brightens behind your eyes and you can clearly see the neon marquee of the muggle movie cinema bearing down on the two of you as you stand on the sidewalk and peer up at the list of movies and try and choose which to see.

Without even realizing it you are moving again and by the time you open your eyes you are halfway down the street and you spot the deserted cinema just down the road. A perfect twin in every way to the one you currently see in your mind, although, where the one in your mind feels alive and vital, this one before you feels cold and dead. You break into a full beaten run and skid to a stop at the tiny glass ticket box, whose windows are fogged over with dirt and grime.  You do not understand how this can be anything other than a dream. There was no other possible explanation for how drastically altered your surroundings are. You raise a hand and place it against the ticket window and another memory floats to the surface of your conscious and you clearly see a more vibrant version of yourself standing exactly where you stand now, with Albus at your side. A muggle fan had recognized him and although you knew that it was stupid to be angry or upset, you were. You had come to loathe those fans and the way they were always disrupting your life at every turn.  You scowled as he sheepishly signed an autograph and posed for a photograph and by the time the two girls had taken their leave you were far more annoyed than you should have been.

When he smiles at you it is easy and full of love and it lessens the tightness in your chest marginally and you manage a feeble smile in return. He holds out his hand to you and you find yourself staring down at it and you want nothing more than to take it up and press it flat against your heart, but something inside of you tells you that it is not possible somehow.

You are standing in the middle of a deserted town with your eyes squeezed shut when you reach out to him and come up with only air, and although you have done this countless times before, it feels just as painful as the first time. Albus is always just out of your reach in this place, you have become all too aware of this fact. Every time you think you catch a glimpse of him you chase after him until your lungs are aching and your legs want to collapse, and every time you find yourself alone still.  A single tear escapes out of the corner of your eye and you shiver as it rolls down your cheek and drops off the angle of your jaw. When it splashes to the ashen pavement beneath your feet it gleans color into the immediate area and you watch in abject fascination as color and life slowly seep into the ground around the scant teardrop.

You kneel down and press a fingertip into the middle of the circle, desperate for a taste of the warmth that you just know radiates from the life that seems unattainable to you. In the end you feel nothing but the gritty press of long-forgotten concrete and a gaping hole in your chest.  You will wander these empty streets and this abandoned township for as long as it takes you to find him. You will never stop searching.  Never.

∞

He is dreaming of flaxen haired angels with wings as warm as snow when the first real and lucid sounds begin to invade his subconscious. The way his eyelids flutter has his mother’s breath caught in her throat and his father’s undivided attention. He has been lying unconscious in this muggle hospital bed for three days and they are beginning to wonder if he will ever wake up. His REM is the first real sign of life that they have seen from him since they’d arrived and they cling to the feeble gesture that is more than likely nothing because they are both terrified of the things that remain unspoken. There are so many questions and not enough answers and they really want their son to wake up because they don’t have any idea how to go on living like this.

His father’s gaze tears itself away from the bed to watch his mother, whose expression is a very readable myriad of emotions for the entire world to see. His own emerald gaze is blood shot and red-rimmed and he doesn’t really think he has any more tears left to cry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like  _this._ When his father had hugged his son goodbye nearly a year previous he had no idea that it might be the last time and he silently torments himself for not hugging him just a little bit tighter as the minutes slowly tick by in a death march that he refused to acknowledge.  For all of their efforts the muggle doctors here have assured his father that he would live, although whether that living was really living at all, was anyone’s guess.   _He’s gonna be alright_  his mother whispers more to herself than anyone at all, and when his father manages a faint smile it is cracked with the painful reality of disbelief and he wonders if all of his courage and hope had finally run out.

The whisper carries from his mother’s lips to the shell of his exposed ear and its sound resonates throughout the blurry vision of the too-bright angel in his mind. He recognizes that voice and wants to turn towards it, but he is afraid to take his eyes off the angel with the golden halo for even a moment. He’s been with the angel since he closed his eyes and although he cannot put a name to the face, he knows that there is nowhere else he would rather be. When he meets the angel’s gaze he feels warm and loved and although there are no words exchanged, he knows that it is okay to look away because not everything needs to be seen to be believed.

When he turns his head to glance over his shoulder he sees shadows moving in the fog just beyond his peripheral and when he moves closer to them he can just make out human shapes without faces. His hands reach up to swipe at the tangible wetness that hangs in the air and it feels so cold against his fingertips that he wants to retract himself and return to the angel, except the angel has gone and left a vacancy that cannot be filled in its wake.  _Albus. Albus wake up. Wake up now, baby._ The words are like beacons of light that pierce the veil of grey that is swallowing him up and when he starts running towards the visible sounds everything else becomes a blur. A doorway is opening before him and he plunges through it headfirst because he is ready to find his way out of this darkness. He is ready to wake up and find his angel, the one that he can touch and taste and smell. The last thing he sees behind his eyelids is a clear floating image of a cinema marquee with scrambled letters and he thinks that if he had more time he might be able to decipher their meaning, but as it turns out, he is finally out of time and the image is gone.

∞

There are no clear indications that decipher definition of time and although you are becoming accustomed to the sensation of perpetual grey it still confuses you somehow. You wander aimlessly and alone, turning down one random empty street after another because you are losing your purpose. More than anything else you want to be found but for every minute that slips through your fingertips, you lose that hope that you’ve been holding onto just a little bit more.

You want so desperately to know how you wound up in this dreamscape that feels more like a nightmare than anything at all. The solitude is agonizing to your soul and the vast nothingness is slowly picking away at your resolve, one tiny sliver at a time. You know that you shouldn’t lose hope and that you should keep on searching for him but you don’t know how and you aren’t even sure that he is here.

When you grow tired of walking you sink down onto a dusty park bench and you rest your chin on the backs of your hands. Everywhere you look it is the same muted dirty greys and it feels like you are trapped in a world that the color has been syphoned out of. Somewhere along the way resentment has started to creep in and you can feel it nesting inside of you like an unwelcome parasite. You cling to your few scant memories of Albus and you wield them like your greatest weapons because they are really all that you have. Somewhere in the distance the sound of a siren cuts through the nothingness and it sounds so utterly foreign to you that your head snaps up and you gasp audibly. You’ve not glimpsed so much as a sliver of other signs of life here and the sound, although foreboding, is a welcome shift in the monotony of it all.

You launch yourself up and off the bench and take off running towards the sound and every step closer is like a shot of hope straight to your psyche.  You run with abandon down one deserted street after another, desperate to find the source of the siren. Your heart is in your throat and every nerve that you possess is on edge and it is the most alive sensation you have felt in days.  When you come upon the same cinema that you were at before you frown because you think that you have just run in a large circle, but then you notice that the doors are open and you blink stupidly because you are confused. Maybe you aren’t alone after all and when you take a few steps towards the waiting door you hope that you are right.

Inside the cinema everything is coated with the same smoky grit as the city waiting on the outside and you have to reach up to cover your ears because the wailing caterwaul of the siren is splitting your mind in half because outdoor warning sirens are not meant to be contained within solid walls. You move slowly down the center row of the theater with vacant seats all around you and you feel like the main spectacle on display for an audience of no one. When the screen whirls to life you stop dead because now you  _know_  you cannot possibly be alone here and you are angry because this is a cruel joke that you wish you were not a part of.  You glance over your shoulder to the small window above the seats in the very back row and you frown because it is dark and there is no real indication that the projector is even functioning.  When you turn your attention back to the screen you see gritty flashes and black and white glimpses of your own life and a cold chill races down your spine because you think you are beginning to understand what is happening.  The screen depicts a larger than life version of a smiling Albus who appears to be lying in the grass at Hogwarts, which cracks and flashes to an animated image of the two of you sitting side by side in a coffee shop. You sink down into a chair without even realizing it because you are transfixed on the screen, which seems to be mocking you with all of the things that you cannot have.

Albus is silently laughing on the screen now, running down a sunny sidewalk that looks to be Paris. The image switches again and you see the inside of your flat back in London which quickly melts into an image of Albus on a stage playing his guitar and singing into a microphone. There is no sound but you have watched him so many times on that stage that you know exactly what song he is singing by his body language alone and it breaks your heart because you would give anything in the world to see that image with your own eyes just one more time.

By the time the screen clicks off you are silently crying tears that you are hardly even aware of. You sit alone in the empty theater for a long time and wonder what you did to deserve this awful fate. You don’t really care about the dying part, you can deal with death, but you cannot deal with being alone. The torment that you have faced the last few days is nothing to the raw emotions that you feel now and when you gaze up at the blank screen through tearstained eyes you wish that it would switch back on, because even pain is better than nothing at all.

∞

_“I think he’s waking up! Harry, get the doctor!”_  The sound of his mother’s voice is like the softest beacon to his wandering ears and even though he cannot see anything but darkness he presses on towards where he thinks she is because he is ready. Sensation is slowly beginning to filter into him and there is a cold tingle that he can clearly feel from the tips of his toes all the way to his fingertips. When his eyes flutter open his mother gasps loudly and covers her mouth so that she doesn’t startle him, and although he is still so bruised and wounded, she has never been so awash with relief and happiness.   _“There you are baby, I knew you would come back to me.”_  When she leans over him and brushes her fingers against his forehead gently his eyes shutter because his senses are on overload and he feels faintly sick. His throat feels like it has a sandpaper block wedged in it and when he opens his mouth to speak she shakes her head softly and gently shushes him.   _“Take it easy, baby.”_  She smiles down at him and tears drop from her eyes onto the bed sheets and he has no idea why she looks so sad and happy at the same time. Again he opens his mouth to speak but when his father rushes back into the room practically dragging a muggle doctor along with him, he closes his mouth because he doesn’t know what is happening or where he is.

The doctor takes his time examining him. His tiny light that he shines in his eyes is annoying and the metal disc he presses to his chest is cold and makes him shiver. He has so many questions that are building by the second and no one seems to want to answer any of them.  The doctor instructs his mother to give him a sip of water to lubricate his throat and although it does little to remove the sandpaper sensation, he finds it marginally easier to speak.  His voice is scratchy and weak but there is no mistaking what is said. “Scorpius.” The single request quickly sends his parents into immediate silence, which stirs an alarm inside of him. “I want…Scorpius.” He rasps out, and when his mother’s hand rests atop his he knows that something terrible has happened because his mother never looks like that unless it’s bad news.

It takes him two entire days to piece together what had happened, and he still can’t even be sure of the details because he cannot remember it all still. He knows he had been to see a movie with Scorpius, who had been quickly becoming disillusioned to life on the road. He lived for the thrill of the stage and the surge of screaming fans who knew the words to  _all_  of his songs, but without the blonde by his side his life and his accomplishments meant very little to him. He remembers making a promise to himself to set aside more time for Scorpius and he knew that he had taken so much from the other boy when he had dragged him away from his family and school and London at just barely seventeen years old. Sometimes he felt guilty that Scorpius never got to experience his own triumphs and accomplishments and he often wondered if sharing in his would be enough for the other boy.  Of course they loved each other, there was never any question of it. It was there in every desperate kiss and  _I love you._  It was the big things and the small things and even all of the dirty things in-between. Destiny had brought them together and united their souls and he still felt and believed that down into the darkest recesses of his mind and body. 

It was an off day the night they had gone to the cinema, his band had performed in town the evening before and that night he had been determined to make just about the two of them. He hadn’t expected to be approached by fans because he still didn’t consider himself a star. His band wasn’t  _that_  big, at least in his eyes.  He remembers standing on the street trying to choose a movie and he can still feel the warmth of Scorpius’ hand wrapped around his own, but it is the details immediately following that he cannot recall.  According to his parents and the muggle doctors overseeing his care, he was found in the passenger seat of an automobile that had been driven into a large tree just outside of town.

Brief flashes of memories would come and go and from them he was able to recall an argument over who would drive. He had wanted to do it since Scorpius was still a novice without the proper license, but Scorpius was adamant and easily charmed him over with a pouty bottom lip and devious kisses laced with unfair advantage. It had taken much pleading on his part to get his parents to tell him about Scorpius. His mother had chewed nervously on her bottom lip and glanced at his father, who looked resigned and far too used to this level of grief.  It had been hard to hear the details of how the scene looked and he was nearly inconsolable when they reluctantly told him that Scorpius had been located _outside_  of the car. There were countless words spoken after that but he didn’t hear a single one because his mind was frozen on the abstract image of the love of his life lying on a road somewhere in the rain, dying all alone.

The fact that Scorpius was not actually dead came as little comfort to him, especially considering that his parents had swooped in and whisked him away back to London with angry promises of retribution and harsh warnings to stay away because he had already done enough damage. 

From the moment he learned that the other boy still lived he was determined to get back to him, and it was that tiny glimmer of hope that served as his will. It took longer than he liked for the muggle doctors to deem him well enough to leave their bloody hospital and every day he would impatiently plead with his parents to take him back home to London. He did not understand why they seemed so content in remaining in the care of muggles, were magical healers not far more capable to speed up his road to recovery? Surely there were wizarding hospitals in America that could have received them? But his parents were insistent that he stay and get well and although it frustrated and maddened him to the point of angry outbursts, he ultimately did as he was told. He had no way of knowing that his parents were only trying to stall the inevitable and that they only wanted to protect him. It didn’t matter to him that they were doing the best that they could because in his eyes it was anything but.

The day he left the hospital he was scared and anxious. His father suggested they head back to the hotel to collect his belongings but he had wanted to visit the crash site. His mother shook her head and begged him not to go and she looked so much like a fiery angel that it almost made him change his mind. He hated the thought of disappointing them and he hoped that they understood that this was something that he  _had_  to do, because for as much as he wanted to return to London and to Scorpius, his thirst to  _know_  overshadowed everything.

The crash site was underwhelming and he found himself standing by the side of the road, hugging himself absently as he stared at a tree that hardly looked damaged at all. There were black skid marks on the pavement that disappeared where the dirt and gravel met tree roots and it turned his blood to ice in his veins as he gazed down at them from behind glassy eyes. He tried so hard to recall the events leading up to this singular moment in his life that would change its entire course and it frustrated him that he could see nothing but murky darkness. His thirst for understanding was not cathartic so much as it was selfish because he hated the idea of returning to Scorpius so full of life and little understanding. He thought that if he could relive the pain of the moment and fully realize the events that led up to where he now stood that it would somehow make seeing the other boy easier on him because he wasn’t sure that this was something that he could survive.

On the way back to the hotel he stared out the backseat window in silence, lost in his own jumbled and confused thoughts. His parents exchanged knowing glances with one another because they had already known that this was going to happen. The drive was uncomfortably quiet and it shred what little nerves his mother had left into tiny pieces. As if by magic a movie marquee floated past his window and when he shouts urgently for his father to pull over the car, his mother jumps and feels another surge of sympathy for him and for them and for this entire situation.

He barely waits for the car to stop moving before he scrambles out of it, bounding towards the cinema as fast as his stiff legs would carry him. He is lost in visions of moments already past and as he approaches the glass ticket box his chest seizes painfully as he remembers standing in the exact same spot with Scorpius only a handful of days previous. He cannot say why he reaches up to touch the glass or why he feels warmth radiate through his palm as it presses against the cool pane. His eyes slide closed and he suddenly feels that he is not so alone after all, and a fleeting image of a flaxen haired angel skips past his shuttered eyelids that leak with the first tears of many that he has yet to cry.

∞

You are becoming accustomed to life in the interim. Much like living in the real world you are developing patterns that help the hours pass. No longer do you wander the vacant city searching for answers because you think that you have found them all right here at this cinema. Sometimes you shuffle out into the street just for the sake of doing it but you hardly venture very far away. The siren sounds at irregular intervals and each time you hear it your heart skips a beat and you race back inside to catch those few fleeting glimpses of the life you’ve left behind and you cry alone in the smoky darkness and lament over things that you can no longer have.

Albus is always there waiting for you when you return, smiling and silently laughing as if to remind you. You long to touch his corporeal form down in the deepest depths of your own soul but you have no choice but to settle for these ghostly images instead. Each glimpse is a different moment of your life with him, frozen in time on a constant loop that you are no longer sure is meant to comfort you or torture you. Today you watch as Albus frolics on a sandy beach in France and he looks so undeniably happy that it shatters your heart into a million little pieces. When the scene changes it is another depiction of his face, only this time he is beneath you in the bed that you shared in that stupid little flat in London. You watch the scene play out with a heady mixture of envy and fascination and they way his temples shine with sweat and his cheeks color with vibrancy that is lost in the black and white translation is like the slowest form of torture. You don’t want to watch this part but you are terrified to look away so you endure the pain instead and you tell yourself that it is better than nothing at all.

When the screen clicks off you are once again left in dingy darkness and you sit for a long time before you stumble back out onto the street. You feel sick and tired and when you rest against the dirty glass ticket box you secretly wish for death. The longer you stand there the worse you feel until something possesses you to reach up and lay the palm of your hand against the window. The warmth you feel radiating into your open hand shocks you and soothes your aching heart and although you have no way of knowing that at the very same time in a very different place an extremely similar act was taking place, you feel comforted by a touch that you cannot actually feel.

∞

The cold wetness of London is like a welcome friend to him and although he does not smile or feel in the least bit happy, he is comforted still by the familiarity of surroundings that only home can provide. His parents want him to come home to Godric’s Hollow but he quickly refuses because he wants to lock himself away in that flat that he shared with Scorpius above that stupid coffee shop and forget the world. 

When his parents leave him they are filled with dread of what is yet to come and the uncertainty of the future slowly eats away at them like insects on rotting flesh.  They only want to help their son work through his grief but they feel inadequate and unqualified and so they return to their home and wait for the ball to drop instead.

Back at the flat it is a natural reaction for him to drag himself into the bedroom and crawl into the bed that still smells like Scorpius. He hugs the other boy’s pillow and cries himself to sleep and when he wakes up in the morning he tells himself that today is the day that he will finally see him.

Of course Scorpius’ parents have not made it easy. They have made it painfully clear that they want Albus to remain as far away as possible and although it is not voiced aloud, it is obvious that this is more for their own benefit than anyone else’s.   Seeing Albus would only serve as yet another painful reminder of what they have lost. Scorpius’ mother is feeding a deteriorating liver with all the alcohol she needs just to get out of bed in the morning and his father is like a silent and gaunt shell of his former self. Neither one of them can understand how or why this happened and have long since given up expecting answers. They will never come to terms with the fact that their son will more than likely never open his eyes, will never smile or laugh or light up their lives and they silently torture themselves for not being better parents because it is the only way they know how to live. It is not fair that Albus gets to live while Scorpius lies lost somewhere in death’s unforgiving embrace. They both know all too well that their son only remains affixed to this earth because of heavy spells and intravenous potions but they are too selfish to ever truly let him go.

The day that he knocks on the front doors of Malfoy manor Scorpius’ Uncle Theo answers and his pained expression is all that he needs to know that there is no hope here in this old house. Theodore wishes he had better news to bear to the broken boy on the doorstep and it breaks his heart to see the sadness he feels inside himself reflected in the eyes of this once vibrant boy that Scorpius had loved more than anything else in the entire world. 

Scorpius’ parents are nowhere to be seen when Theodore leads him down the corridor towards the bedroom where his love and his life lie helpless and unmoving on a massive bed beneath a garish duvet. He thought he had been prepared for this, thought he had been ready to be reunited with the blond, even if only in body. But he had been wrong. The moment he stepped into the room the last remaining pieces of his heart shattered at his feet and he knew he would never get them back but it’s okay because without Scorpius, he doesn’t need them.

Scorpius looked just like a sleeping angel to him and he was instantly reminded of the angel in his dreams. Of course Scorpius was his angel, he’d always known that, he only wished that his angel had been thoughtful enough to take him with him when he left. 

When Theodore leaves them alone he doesn’t even notice and when he crossed the room to the bed the soft whir of monitoring spells and magically suspended iv bags are nearly too much for him to take. In all of his dreams and nightmares he had never envisioned Scorpius like  _this_  and more than anything else he wishes that he could un see it; all of it because maybe this hurts  _too_  much.

He takes up Scorpius’ hand that feels cold and already dead and when a sob rips through his entire body it hurts so much that he doubles over the bed and not so silently weeps against the other boy’s covered chest. He knows that it is not fair to be so angry but he can’t help it. He hates that this is what his life has become and he is hurt that Scorpius left him behind. It doesn’t matter that it was unplanned, they had had an agreement and now Scorpius had gone back on the deal and he had no idea how he was supposed to go on living without him.

∞

The scenes have begun to repeat themselves and although you cannot help but notice because you have committed each of them to lucid memory, you don’t mind. Just being able to see Albus, even if only in ways that you could not touch or taste or feel was something, and it would have to be enough. You have no need for eating or sleeping although sometimes you replicate the actions for the sake of clinging to your sanity. When you lie down across three empty theater seats you close your eyes and you wish that you could dream yourself awake. You have accepted the fact that you are not lost so much as dead but you still have no real idea where you are or why you are here. Of course next to nothing is known of the world beyond the living, but you like to think that in the very least, your soul is not so damaged that it might be permitted to pass from one life onto the next.  

You lie in the dingy cinema for a long time staring at the backs of your eyelids, the silence around you deafening in its way. You are just about to give up trying when it happens. A colorful vision springs up behind your eyes and whisks you away, mind and soul.

You find yourself standing beneath a glowing marquee that flashes various muggle movie titles and although you know that you should be confused, you feel like maybe you are finally getting somewhere. When you glance over at the glass ticket box it is no longer vacant because Albus is standing inside of it and the way the pillbox hat sits askew on his head makes you smile so wide that it hurts.

It takes you only moments to close the distance between you and the small glass case and although Albus is right in front of you, the glass that divides you is like a new form of torture. _There you are_  he says with a familiar smile that twists your heart into a knot and he looks so calm and serene that you start to feel it too.

“I missed you,” You whisper as you lift a shaking hand to press it against the glass and when he mirrors the gesture the sensation of human touch is so close you can almost taste it.  _Where did you go?_  He asks slowly and when he tilts his head you are mildly impressed that the little hat doesn’t fall off.

You have so many things you want to say to him and you are scared that you are running on borrowed time and it strikes you uncharacteristically mute in the process. There is still so much you do not know and although it would be painfully easy to lose yourself in the sadness and the longing, you force out a difficult question instead.  “Am I dead?” You say this as plainly as if you were having a normal conversation because you have never been one to mince words and then you watch him carefully because you are terribly skilled at reading people.  _Particularly_  Albus Severus Potter.

The corners of his eyes tug down into a frown and you do not miss the way tears well up in his eyes and you think that you have your answer. It’s not like it comes as any real shock to you, you’d already suspected it for some time and whatever the reason, you are long since over worrying about it.  “That is…completely unfair.” You reply with a scowl and when his fingers twitch on the other side of the glass you can’t help but smile. “Listen Albus, whatever happened, I’m sorry. But you’ve got to promise me that you’ll move on. You have so much to give the world still and I don’t want to ruin that for you.” You are talking so fast that you hardly even notice his head shaking violently in front of you until you are nearly finished. When you stare at him quizzically he glares angrily at you in a way that you have never seen before and it mutes out your eagerness just slightly.  _Unfair? You want to know what’s unfair? You asking me to move on. As if that is an option for me._ He sounds hurt and so tired and the small barrier that divides you is suddenly like a vast chasm that seems to grow deeper with every passing moment.  You don’t mean to sound this way and you only wish that you could make him understand that you say these things because you love him so much. You would never ask him to neuter his life for you, nor would you expect it because more than anything you want him to be happy.  “I just want you to be happy.” You say quietly and when you offer him a tentative smile you get nothing of the like in response.  _How can I be happy when I feel like half of me has been ripped out? It wasn’t supposed to be like this; you weren’t supposed to leave me behind._ The sorrow in his words and tone set forth a war inside of you that you don’t know how to win. The thought of Albus alone and unhappy in the world breaks apart your heart and your soul. “I’m sorry.” You add a bit lamely and when you bow your head you feel the shame of doing nothing wrong clear down to your feet.  _I don’t know how to live without you._  He whispers so quietly that you are not sure it is even real and when you lift your gaze to meet his, all of the love and the sadness that has accumulated between the two of you transcend the only barrier that has ever stood between you.  “Do it for me.” You say as the glass and the ticket box melt away and his arms find their way around your form and then you heave a silent cry because he really  _is_ touching you now and it’s better than you ever could have remembered.

∞

It is three weeks later that he finds himself in Draco Malfoy’s study, debating over life and death and the integrity of assisted living mechanisms. Over the course of a few short weeks his views on matters had shifted and he no longer found himself upset over the fact that Scorpius still lived and still breathed mostly assisted by various potions, spells, and charms. Where he was once filled with sadness by the idea of the blond lying helpless in a bed he would never wake up in, now he was, quite literally, fighting for Scorpius’ life. Draco and his ex wife had finally come to terms with the harsh reality of the situation. They knew their son would never again amount to anything more than what they could see in front of them and they were now equipped and prepared to pull that proverbial plug and allow fate take her course.

His life had become such a drastically different thing than it was only weeks ago. He’d managed to meet Scorpius at that very same cinema in his dreams nearly every night since the first time and much like the blond’s parents, he was ready to accept this fate that had been given to him because he would rather spend a short time with Scorpius in his mind every night than the alternative, which is why he was where he is now.

_You have to let me go._ Scorpius says to him in his dreams, and he looks so sad that he feels it too. “I can’t.” He replies quietly and with a shake of his head and then he sweeps the blond up in a gripping embrace so that he doesn’t have to see the hurt in his eyes.

He knows that what he is doing isn’t healthy and that it will never be impossible for him to properly heal and lead a normal life, but he doesn’t care. From the moment that Scorpius Malfoy walked into his life it was forever altered and he wasn’t about to go changing things now because even death could not separate them.

When he wasn’t chasing Scorpius through his dreams he was reading; endless supplies of information about neurological components and coma scales. Of course the team of healers the Malfoys had hired to care for Scorpius had all concluded that his persistent vegetative state would likely not change, although this hardly deterred him.  He simply could not accept the fact that the other boy was gone and was determined to find an answer or a solution that would bring Scorpius back to him.

Nearly every night that he lie down in his bed and closed his eyes Scorpius was waiting for him at that flashy muggle cinema like always. He had no idea why this phenomenon was possible and he didn’t care. It gave him the much-needed opportunity to expel his grievances and bask in the love that he lacked during the daylight hours. They never ventured very far in his dreams, although that hardly mattered. When they were together every aspect of the world ceased to exist, their love for one another transcended both the physical and astral planes and every night he knew that there was nothing or no one that could ever make him give it up.

_You can’t keep me here forever._  Scorpius would say to him and he would just smile and shake his head and avoid the truth behind the words between them.

Of course he could keep Scorpius here forever, it had already been decided and he didn’t care how selfish it was. He was not letting go and anyone that tried to change that would have a fight on his or her hands.

∞

The overwhelming sense of relief you feel whenever you are in his presence is slowly being overshadowed by the weariness that you feel down in the depths of your soul. You do not know it but souls are not meant to be trapped in the astral plane for extended periods of time. What you do know is that you are never going to return to your physical body, you have long since accepted that fact and come to terms with it.

You are tired and the joy that Albus brings you is not nearly enough to ward off the solitude that this grey plane of nothingness brings you. Even the outdoor warning siren has lost its flair and is now more of a droning cry than a caterwauling screech.

You want to make Albus understand that you are not supposed to remain here but you hardly recognize the light behind his eyes anymore and you can’t help but feel anything other than regret because you know that this is your entire fault. More than anything else you wish you could go back and do things differently. Maybe if you had thought a little bit more about him and a little bit less about you this wouldn’t have happened. The regret and the despair stab at your insides like daggers against your ribs and you hope that when you really are allowed to die that it feels nothing like this. You were wrong when you told yourself that the pain was better than nothing at all and now you long for the void of emptiness more and more with each passing day. You love Albus more than anyone or anything you have ever known but he is slowly killing you by forcing you to remain and you hardly have the heart to tell him no.

∞

His life is on a constant loop. A rewind of the day before that is constantly being replayed like a do-over that he can’t seem to get right. He is far too entrenched to stop now and even if he could he doubts that he would because he cannot bear the thought of having nothing at all.

His family has long given up trying to reason with him. When he left his band and quit singing he broke the hearts of more people than he can even fathom and it doesn’t matter because there is nothing to say when there is no one to write about. Sometimes he wonders if his grief and his inability to let go will bring hells rain down upon him and it scares him to think of the consequences that will one day be held against him for his actions. 

Years slip through his fingertips before he can even look up from his reading to notice. He has taken to muttering to himself about astral planes and sub-levels of consciousness in public and is often given a wide arc of surreptitious solitude wherever he goes. His parents stand on the sidelines and watch helplessly as their son deteriorates to the point of mental illness and they wonder where they went wrong with him and they blame themselves and eventually they are forced to make a decision that is the hardest thing they’ve ever had to do.

The day they have him committed to the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s is a one that will haunt them for the remainder of their lives. They know he will not go easily and it takes three stunning spells to take him down and have him escorted out of the tiny flat.

Every night when he closes his eyes Scorpius is still there waiting for him with the same watery blue gaze and the same easy smile and every night he is reminded why he will never give this up and he will never stop hoping for just one more yesterday.

Just one more.

**Author's Note:**

> The quote at the beginning is graciously borrowed from Lao Tzu


End file.
